The Fall of a Hero
by Iarejedi
Summary: A short story about the death of Glorfindel in the fall of Gondolin


Disclaimer: I don't own Silmarillion or Glorfindel…yada yada. Y'all know how it goes.

A/N: This is a short story of the death of the elf Glorfindel in the fall of Gondolin. I always felt that this elf never got enough recognition in the book and not enough was known about him. He always intrigued me. So this is just a short story inspired by watching way to much LOTR and reading way to much Tolkien. What am I saying!? You can never have too much of Tolkien! ;) Hope you enjoy this and as always don't forget to review. 

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            My life was once so simple, so uncomplicated. Yes, once I was young with the joys of youth upon me, when the world was still new. It feels so long ago now, more than an age ago it would seem. Once the world was beautiful, pure, and untouched by evil or at least seemed that way to me. The younger elves, such as me then, could ignore the taint of Morgoth and pretend his touch did not reach us in our hidden city of Gondolin. Such is the naivety of youth. 

            The white city of Gondolin was our haven. We lived our lives within those walls, never leaving and untouched by the outside world. It was not like the cities of men. Not it was larger than any man could imagine, and beautiful beyond what mere mortal man's words could describe. It was full of gardens and elvish crafts, such as fountains made by the great King Turgon himself and two trees that were made of silver and gold in memory of the Two Trees of Valinor. It held everything we ever wanted or needed within its magnificent white walls. 

            Evil was kept at bay by our warriors and the secrecy surrounding Gondolin. The power of Ulmo in the Vale of Sirion also helped keep it secret. Few came in, none went back out. A law was set down that any stranger who might find their way to the city was not to leave, and no one but the ones living there were to know its whereabouts. Many of us took for granted the safety in which we lived. We felt that nothing could reach us in Gondolin. So perhaps it was not only the youth that can be blamed for not seeing the danger before it was upon us. We were all guilty of those acts. We always thought we would be safe and nothing would change that. We were wrong. Nothing can ever stay the same. We learned that when Morgoth attacked us with balrogs, dragons, orcs and wolves. That was one our lives changed forever.

            Do you know what it is like to live in peace all your life then to have it destroyed forever? I do not know how disaster crept upon us so quickly. It seemed like the world had shattered beneath our feet in one day, so many of us died when the evil found our city. The peace had made us lower are guard and forget how life was outside our protective walls. We elves shall never live in peace here in this world of men and evil. It is our curse. Our bane, placed upon us when we so foolishly left Valinor behind. 

            I always wondered how my kin and parents could have even thought about leaving the place of the Valar. I have heard tales of the beauty, harmony, and joy that still resides in Valinor. I have seen paintings of that place that I am told do not even come close to what it truly is. I have gazed upon the two trees that remind us of the Two Trees that once lived in Valinor before they were destroyed by the giant spider, Ungoliant. Yes, we elves were once a part of that place. Then we forsook it and were banned from it after the Kinslaying all because Feanor refused to let the silmarils go after they were taken by Melkor. When Melkor stole the Silmarils, and slew his father Finwë, Fëanor rebelled against the Valar and led the greater part of the Noldor (the elves of Finwe, who were the second to undertake the march to Valinor) into Middle-earth. He and his sons then made the dreadful Oath of Fëanor, swearing that neither he nor his sons would rest until the Silmarils were in their hands. So thus greed even touches the elves of the first race of the world. Evil taints everything thanks to the dark lord, Melkor (who was named ever after as Morgoth by Feanor).

            I often wonder what I would have done had I been faced with the decision to leave Valinor. My loyalties to my family and kin would have been hard to ignore. I would have hated to be parted from them, yet could I have given up living in such a place? I would not have had to feel the touch of death or the pain of watching my kin die. Death does not touch those in Valinor who stayed to live eternity in that most joyful place. Death can not stay in that place of perfection. I think in the end I would have stayed with the Valar. Yet, would I have been the same elf I am now if I had not learned so much of the pain, suffering, and death that haunts Middle Earth? Would I have stayed the naïve youth all my life? That question always made me wonder.

            During the course of my life, I have seen and experienced many things. Enough to make me wonder how invincible we elves think we really are. We try to forget how much death can really touch us. It frightens us to think that we can die so easily as men. True we do not die of disease and strife like men do, yet death can still reach us. We can be killed in battle by the blade of an enemy, and yes even our own kin. Death by blade or arrow is not the only thing that touches us. A broken heart is just as deadly, and far worse than dying by blade. We elves love with all our heart. When we lose one of our own it hurts us deeply, some so much that life can not go on without that one elf in our lives. 

            Love is our greatest strength and our worst weakness. It was love that drove me to take up my sword against the balrog. I did not know what courage flowed through my blood until Turgon was killed by one of those terrible creatures of flame. I had to avenge the death of my king and save the lives of my people. I could not stand by while Morgoth's minions destroyed my kin. 

            That was how I came to stand here, in the rain outside the ruins of our white city, worn and beaten, remembering. The blood of my enemies stained my armor and the balrog's blood dripped from my sword. The body of the great balrog lay dying at my feet, and I along with it. My life passed before me in what felt like a lifetime as I stood there, but it had only been moments to a suddenly motionless world. Time seemed to have stopped here and even the very wind seemed to have gone silent. 

            I stared at the thrashing beast of fire, feeling its life ebbing. Slowly, the adrenaline left my body and the thrill of the battle wore away. I felt exhausted beyond any measure I had ever known and so old. Never have I felt the wear of years upon me as I felt now. It seemed to weigh me down, putting a stoop in my shoulders that had not been there before. Blood seeped from my brow and body to the ground in a slow crimson rain. I had never shed my blood before as I do now. I stand here, wounded and dying, because of the love for my King and people. I had avenged Turgon and saved the lives Idril, Tuor, and all those that had been trapped because of the balrog. I had unbarred the way for them to escape. It was worth the price of my life.

            The balrog turned its fierce gaze upon me and I felt all its hatred fall over me like a crushing weight trying to suffocate me. It lay, twisted and broken, on the edge of the cliff on which we had fought. So many times had I come close to falling, only to miraculously regain my footing. I had sworn I would not die until the beast was dead first. I would gladly go to the halls of Mandos if only I knew that this foul creature had gone back to the hell from whence it had come.

            With the last of my strength, I lifted my sword up and walked toward that most hateful creature. The heat of its body and breath swept over me, but I ignored it. The beast could do little harm to me now. My life was already forfeit. I had come to fight the balrog with full knowledge that I would die in this conflict. I was not afraid. My life for Idril, Tuor, and my kin to save them. It was worth it. 

            I raised my sword aloof and met the creature's eyes with the remainder of my courage. "For my Lord Turgon and my kin that you have taken from me, I take your life!"

            My blade swung down downwards, straight and true. I drove it through the creature's heart, up to the very hilt of my sword. The fire of his body burst forth from his body racing up my sword and enveloping me in a cloud of fierce heat. I cared not for the pain. I watched with deep satisfaction as the balrog's body arched up uselessly against my blade and it roared in agony. It's dying cry echoed in my ears, as I yanked my sword free ignoring how it burned me. It's death cry seemed to shake the very mountains. The beast's body fell backward toward the ground once more in a graceful arch. I staggered backward, as it fell toward me trying to crush me in one last violent act in its death. His carcass shook the cliff and the rocks rumbled alarmingly. My eyes widened in horror as the cliff began crack beneath me.

            I scrambled back as the cliff gave way beneath the balrog. I watched through bloodied gaze as the balrog's body began to fall with the cliff. I stood upon the edge of the breaking cliff, watching the carcass fall through the air. The rock beneath my feet broke away and I fell. The air rushed by me and roared in my ears. I felt a detached sense of awe sweep over me but felt no fear. This was what it was like to face one's death. I felt no fear now. I could almost imagine that I was flying like the eagles. The ground seemed to be racing up to meet him, to enfold me in its embrace with the earth and hold me forever in death. 

            I smiled as I faced my doom. It seemed only fitting that I die in view of the great city Gondolin that I had loved so much.

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Thus justice had overcome evil that day but at a bitter price. The loss of Gondolin's "Golden-haired" hero was a terrible one. His passing became legend overtime and no one would ever forget the great elf who had sacrificed his life to ensure the survival of Idril, Tuor, and his people. The tale of his heroic battle with the balrog was retold again and again to their children.

            The king of the eagles, Thorondor, brought back the body of their fallen hero at Tuor's bidding. By the pass of Cirith Thoronath, they laid to rest him within sight of the fallen city to watch over its ruins evermore. There the survivors gathered to mourn his passing and give him their last respects. He had saved them all. They would never forget that. 

            They laid his sword upon his breast and buried him in a mound of stones. They raised a stone over his grave and inscribed on it, "Oh Most Fair, Glorfindel, head of the house of the Golden Flower, To You Do We Owe Our Freedom and Lives." And among his grave of stones grew grass of brilliant green and flowers of vivid yellow until the world was changed.

            Thus was the end of the noble Lord Glorfindel.

The End

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